


Deflagration

by PunkHazard



Category: Mad Max: Fury Road, Pacific Rim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gas Town goes to war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

News of Imperator Furiosa’s coup reaches Gas Town by way of cobbled-together bikes, some of them manually pedalled by injured messengers.  


Well technically– news doesn’t reach Gas Town at all.

Nothing about the People-Eater himself comes weeks after his mobilization but plenty of War Parties return with their tails tucked tightly between their legs, joined out in the desert by a few of their own. They’ll have handed over all remaining supplies before anyone realizes that nobody recognizes the welcoming party, three War Boys on nondescript bikes greeting them like old friends before bombarding them with explosive-tipped spears.

Whatever supplies they have left are hauled into the Gas Town slums, their vehicles dismantled, returning boys themselves left to vultures on the Outback if they’ve died and taken prisoner if they manage to survive.

“I always thought,” Stacker comments idly to Mako when she reports to him (information coaxed from the Citadel’s boys– usually with a single drink of water when they’re told that Valhalla’s no longer an option), “Furiosa would snap sooner or later.”

Jin looks up from a cut on Hu’s shoulder, Weis and Mako all gathered in their common area, a warehouse basement just outside of Gas Town’s industrial neighborhood. The wound’s already stopped bleeding, clogged shut by dust and the patch of pigment he’d avoided when cleaning up earlier. Jin mutters an apology before ripping the scab off, waiting for blood to flush out sand and dirt before staunching it with a rag. In another seat, Cheung’s still scrubbing white powder from his face and chest.

“You met her?” Mako asks, eyes wide and curious in the dim light. She’d only ever heard of Furiosa as a trusted commander under Immortan Joe. Stacker rarely speaks well of anyone from the Citadel.

“A few times.” He keeps whatever else he has to say about her to himself, eyes on a soot-covered window. “Immortan Joe left with all his War Parties. The People Eater may be dead, but Scabrous and his boys won’t be easy.”

Gas Town’s upper crust eats well, lives comfortably, hoards water. Is heavily armed. Cheung mulls that over for a long second, then meets eyes with his brothers. “The Compound is an easier target now than it ever was,” he says decisively. “It was never going to be easy.” 

“We’re out of bullets,” says Jin, looking pointedly at Stacker, “haven’t picked any up from a raid in a long time. ‘Cause the Marshal wouldn’t let us hit outgoing trucks.”

“How would the three of you take down a fully armed rig?” Pentecost shoots back, shutting down the old argument before it can begin. 

“We’d figure it out,” Hu answers, but he falls silent when Jin squeezes his shoulder over his injury and pulls the rag away to check on it. Then they’re too busy scuffling to notice Stacker’s expression soften, some involuntary response to the idea that the Weis of all people would be willing to attack a fresh Citadel contingent for him.

Hu snatches the cloth out of Cheung’s hand when he steps in to break them up, ducking behind his eldest brother to avoid one final swing from Jin, then scrubbing clean a white patch between Cheung’s shoulder blades; he always misses that spot.

“It’ll be a few weeks before the Compound can be sure the People Eater won’t be back. They’ll start regrouping then.” Stacker drags a hand down his face, looking ashen under his skin. “He’s right. We won’t have another chance like this.”

Mako gives him a concerned look, but snaps out of it when Cheung nudges Jin and Hu toward the door. “Go find Tendo. Mako, you too. See what we can do about getting some firepower.”

* * *

When the door closes behind them, Stacker looks at Cheung out of the corner of his eye, the younger man standing stiffly at a distance. “It’s been eight weeks?”

“Seven and a half. You’re at your limit already.”

“Seven weeks is pushing yours.”

Cheung shrugs, following Stacker into his office. “One of my brothers can switch in when you start hitting six. Better if they’re at a hundred percent for this one, though.” He’s the one who rifles through Stacker’s desk for an IV and a tourniquet, briskly tying off his upper arm for a vein and inserting the needle. 

Watching dark blood fill the tube, Stacker briefly considers refusing. They have some leeway– he doesn’t need more than a pint, and Cheung wouldn’t be able to give it safely even if he wanted to. There are other people in their group with his type and he’s a universal recipient anyway, though he’d always flatly turned down Mako’s offers. The biggest hurdle would be finding someone else whose blood hasn’t been contaminated in some unknown form or another and Cheung hadn’t allowed his brothers to step in, though they always volunteer.

“Are you sure about this?”

“My answer never changes, boss.” Cheung motions for Stacker’s arm, brandishing the needle he’s pinched off, all air bubbles finally gone from the tube. He grins. “I get all the water I want after this, so it doesn’t bother me.”

* * *

Tendo secures the last pile of food and blankets to the cowl of Jin’s favorite motorcycle, then gestures at another one already set up to go. “You’ve got enough guzzoline for three days,” he tells the brothers and Mako, “but we expect you back sooner than that.”

Jin and Hu step forward in unison to claim the bikes, swinging their legs over the chassis and pulling the bandanas around their necks up, goggles on their foreheads down. Cheung climbs on behind Hu and Mako takes her place behind Jin, her hands on his shoulders. 

Stacker frowns, as if considering whether or not he can still revoke permission for Mako to go, but he backs off when she looks at him, expression somewhere between pleading and _respectfully, Sensei, I will make your life a living hell if you don’t let me go_. “Have a safe trip,” he says instead, returning Tendo’s exasperated grin with a quirk of his own eyebrows. 

Some seventy kilos out, Hu turns his head and mutters over his shoulder, under the roar of his bike, “Bro, you’re cold.”

Cheung’s been draped over his back for the last three kilometers, arms loosely wrapped around his waist. “Feels pretty good in the Outback,” he answers, voice muffled against his brother’s spine. “Lemme sleep.”

“Don’t let go.”

Mako pushes herself up, standing on the pegs of Jin’s passenger seat and balancing herself on his shoulders. “It’ll be night soon,” she announces, hair whipping back, eyes squinted against wind and dust. “We should see a rock formation in a few hours. Maybe set up there until morning.”

“I remember. Good windbreak.” Jin drops his speed just enough for Hu to pull up alongside, then swerves in so close their throttles knock against each other. “Hu! You know that rock you tried to jump and almost wrecked on?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“We’re gonna take a break there.”

Hu laughs, drawing an annoyed groan from Cheung but no other response. “Yeah, sure. One of you might roll over the boot I lost.”

* * *

Mako’s set up a propane stove, four of them gathered close for warmth as heat evaporates from the sand. Jin has a pot of beans stewing, covered to conserve water. “Have you ever considered,” Mako asks as the brothers dig out blankets from their packs to drape over their shoulders, huddling together, “wearing clothes instead?” 

Hu grins, bare shoulder plastered to Cheung’s. “Ruins the look,” he quips.

“You don’t have to look like War Boys all the time,” Mako points out, but she takes the blanket Jin hands her and pulls it around her shoulders as well. “Only when you’re raiding, or sneaking into the Refinery.”

“Not the War Boys look,” Jin says, “the Look. You know, we’re pretty cool like this.”

She looks at Cheung for some trace of maturity and common sense, but he just flashes her an indulgent, mellow smile. Probably a result of being a pint of blood down and hopelessly besotted with his little brothers. Mako rolls her eyes, but quickly forgets her irritation when Jin starts spooning stew into tin mugs, distributing them around their circle. 

“This stuff is nasty,” Hu grumbles, trying to cool his beans anyway, blowing into his cup. His brothers wait a few minutes for their own portions to reach a managable temperature before tipping their heads back and dumping it down their throats.

Mako vaguely recalls when they first joined Stacker’s contingent, standing out as a few of the rare newcomers without some sort of clock ticking down the days until they die. Maybe they had better food where they came from, but they always eat quickly and finish everything– no strangers, either, to plucking scorpions off the sand and crunching into them alive. 

('Good protein,’ Hu would say. 'Tastes better cooked, though. Like shrimp.’

Mako didn’t bother asking him what a shrimp was.)

By the time they’ve bedded down for the night under a massive rock, lean-to wedged in the sand against the boulder’s overhang, triplets each with a spear in easy reach, Mako’s shivering. She only slightly resents the brothers as she moves closer to the stove they’ve left burning on low for heat, three of them nestled comfortably together, muttering and jostling each other as they settle in. 

She’s starting to wonder if it would be possible to turn the stove up a little higher when Jin snags the edge of her worn-out sleeping bag and pulls her closer to them, throwing his edge of the blanket over her without a word, barely even looking in her direction. Mako rolls closer, under his arm. She knows Sensei would probably get that eating-spoiled-rations expression on his face if he ever found out but, well, it’s cold in the Outback and he doesn’t have to find out. Besides, the Weis never mean anything by it.

* * *

It’s still dark when Mako wakes up, heart beating in her ears, a cool palm over her mouth and someone pressing the hilt of a knife into her hand. “Eyes closed until the signal,” Jin whispers when he feels her struggle, voice pitched so low next to her ear that she barely hears it. She relaxes instantly and he moves away, nothing but the hiss of shifting sand to give a hint to his location. There’s another set of footsteps approaching from beyond their lean-to. 

Cheung’s crouched on the sand with the tip of an exploding spear in hand, detached from its handle. Jin and Hu stay sprawled on their bellies, coiled to spring. She watches three pairs of eyes slide shut. 

Mako rolls onto her stomach and closes hers as well, covering her head. 

One concussive blast later, a wave of heat singeing the hairs on the back of her neck, she pushes herself to her feet, eyes opening cautiously to the last wisp of an explosion behind the tarp of their shelter. Jin and Hu are already flanking the tall, heavyset stranger flailing his arms around him with enough force to hold even the brothers back, each swing expertly protecting his vitals until he can regain his bearings.

Cheung’s still on one knee, expression sour. He’s not in any condition to fight and he feels it; Mako tightens her grip around her knife instead and drops into a crouch while Jin and Hu pull the man’s attention toward themselves, keeping his back turned toward Mako.

When the stranger’s eyes finally seem to adjust to the darkness, Jin and Hu dart forward, aiming for his arms. Mako charges as well, one leap sending her into his back, legs wrapping around his waist and knife fitted neatly over his throat. He hesitates just long enough for Jin and Hu grapple him to the sand. Mako rolls away as Cheung tosses them a rope, and they have him hogtied on the ground in ten seconds flat. 

“Nice work,” says Jin, lightly toeing at the man bound at his feet. “Who’s this?”

“Does he talk?”

“We can make him talk.”

Mako sits on her haunches, shuffling closer to get a look at his face. “Are you with Immortan Joe?”

A grunt. An angry one.

Cheung sounds unsure, but clearly has no intention of untying the stranger. “He doesn’t look like one of Joe’s boys.”

“Some vagrant just wandering around out here, then?” Jin starts rooting through his pockets, relieving him of a pistol and a handful of bullets. “That’s such a bad idea.”

“He was coming from the direction of the Citadel.” Hu jerks a thumb over his finger, at the footprints already fading away. “If you tell us where you’re going, you might actually get there in one piece.”

Stranger mulls that over. “Gas Town,” he says after a moment, rough and stilted. “Unfinished business.”

“What’s the situation at the Citadel?”

Jin gets a look that could freeze lava, incredulous and exasperated. “Untie me.”

Motioning for the brothers to back off, Mako leans in, eyes dark and probing. “What’s the situation at the Citadel?”

He looks wary for a long moment, but gives in when he gets a good look at her young, earnest face. A deep sigh, then, “Immortan Joe is dead. The Wives… were opening his gardens. Amnesty for the War Boys.”

Hu cuts in, arms crossing over his chest. “Why would you leave? It sounds like things are looking up.”

“Unfinished business,” he repeats.

“You’re looking to finish that business?”

An affirmative grunt.

“Does business go by the name of Scabrous Scrotus?”

“Hmm.”

“Why did you approach us?” asks Cheung.

“Didn’t know there’d be so many of you.”

Mako hands the knife back to Jin, reaches forward and undoes the bindings on the vagrant’s ankles and wrists. “If you try anything,” she warns, “we’ll take you down again.” She trots back to their supplies, picking a canteen out of a pile and handing it over, the container nearly drained but with enough water sloshing around its bottom for at least one good mouthful. 

Stranger takes it, stands, eyes it for a second before he downs it, shaking the last few drops into his mouth.

“We have some food, too.”

“Mako–”

“When we reach the Citadel,” she interrupts, brushing off the seat of her pants, “we should be able to stock up. It’s fine.” She looks briefly at Cheung, but addresses the stranger again, chin out. “When you reach Gas Town, ask the one-eyed man near the gate for Marshal Stacker Pentecost. Tell the Marshal that Mako Mori and the Wei brothers were very rude to you, but we couldn’t make it up to you in the wastes.”

“You’re going to the Citadel,” stranger rumbles. At Mako’s nod, he hands the canteen back and looks briefly over his shoulder. “When you get there. Find Furiosa. Tell her… that Max says you four are alright.”

A brief silence. “Are you hungry?” asks Cheung with a surprised glance in Mako’s direction, quickly reevaluating the situation.

“No.”

“If you want to stay with us until morning,” he continues, “that’s not a problem. We’re not giving your weapons back until you’re about to leave, though.”

Max’s lips pull to the side in what can only loosely be described as a smile; he’d probably do the same. “Yeah,” he says, “I’ll leave in the morning.”

He settles close to the stove, sitting with his back against their boulder shelter and arms crossed over his chest. Cheung and Hu return to their places, one sleeping bag open and spread under them and two layered over with plenty of room to spare for Jin. The last brother pulls Mako aside before she can return to her spot. 

Jin pitches his voice low, sitting on his haunches to look out over the sand, eyes scanning the crests of each dune. “What are you thinking, Mako?”

“When you were patting him down,” Mako answers as she joins him, “he didn’t look anything like one of Immortan Joe’s people. Joe doesn’t tattoo his own boys like that.” She rakes her fingers through her hair, eyes locked on the horizon ahead, the Citadel just beyond it. “And… Mr. Max is O-negative.”

Avoiding the long, calculating look Jin gives her, Mako hastily returns to her sleeping bag, pulling the top edge over her face. Once she’s fairly certain that he’s done judging her, she peers out, watching him saunter toward her, and his brothers.

Jin ruffles her hair as he settles back. “I thought about it too,” he mutters, smiling lightly when Cheung groans in his sleep, Hu having thrown one heavy arm over his chest, pressing the air out of his lungs. “If things go bad, having a supply… it’ll be convenient.”

Then he rolls over, breaths slowing and evening out. The triplets have always been able to take every second afforded to them for sleep, though they do it lightly. Mako doesn’t manage to drop off for another hour, thinking of all the ways their plan could fail.


	2. Chapter 2

Furiosa grants them an audience when Mako says Stacker's name; she even brings them up to the mountaintop after patting the boys down and confiscating their weapons. They don't have to namedrop Max, though when Mako asks about his association with Furiosa, she seems even more sure of her decision to hear them out.

The four women Furiosa introduces them to seem delighted to meet Mako; a little wary of the triplets, three of them robustly tanned, sharp eyes taking in everything around them with an uncommon clarity. Cheedo's the first to peel away, following a hunch-backed old woman with a small pot of seedlings in her hands. Capable leaves Toast and the Dag to the newcomers when a Repair Boy, sans white bodypaint, pokes his head in and alerts her to a fight in the waterways over how a tomato plant should be pruned.

Mako watches Furiosa fight back a smile before the older woman takes her leave, mechanical arm flexing and expression twisting into a snarl as she falls into step behind Capable. 

Hu pauses in front of a small tree as the Dag leads them toward a wooden table, set in a grassy clearing ringed by saplings. He tugs a leaf off, rubs it between his fingers, then drops into a crouch at its root, scraping up a small handful of dirt. Cheung and Jin move ahead, barely acknowledging his distraction. 

"What's wrong with it?"

Hu looks up. "Huh?"

"You're looking at our tree and frowning," Toast says, expression defiant. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's not a fruit tree," Hu answers matter-of-factly, "you're just wasting water if you're soaking it every couple days."

"We have plenty of water," Toast says, gesturing at the greenery around them. "It hasn't come close to running out yet."

"It won't last forever." Scratching the back of his neck, Hu pushes himself to his feet and scuffs a circle in the dirt around the tree. "You can hook up a hose, have them set up around whatever you're growing, and poke holes where you want your plants watered. Leave the faucet running, low and steady. You might end up using the same amount, but you'll get more out of it." 

Toast grasps the concept quickly, already seeing the gardens in a new light as she starts mapping the places a hose could go, where it should split and where it should end. Still, frustration seeps into her voice. "I never would've thought of that."

"We had a lot of data about pre-war agriculture," Hu says, deflecting her thoughts away from disappointment at the time and water they've already wasted. "You have clay outside, right? Try baking some pots with narrow necks, then bury them up to the rim. If you fill them with water and plant seeds around them, it doesn't waste a single drop. Takes space if you want a lot of them, though."

Looking around the area, Toast leans forward into his face, the top of her head barely clearing his chin. "Come with me for a second."

Hu throws a glance at Mako and his brothers. They don't seem to miss him, so he follows her to a row of small leafy plants, all of them sickly and wilting. "The soil's depleted," he points out immediately. 

"How do we replenish it?"

"Mix in compost. Use fertilizer. Plant somewhere else for a while and throw in some worms."

Toast points at a pile of leaves, twigs, and cuttings. "What about before the compost is done?"

Hu sighs. "How did Immortan Joe grow this stuff before?"

"Hydroponics."

"Saves space." Hu nods slowly. "But plant food's hard to get if you don't know exactly what you're doing."

"They want to give water to everyone at the Citadel," Toast says, jaw sliding forward in agitation, "Wretched and War Pups and Mothers-- everyone. But we can't do that and grow enough food here at the same time. The other three think if everyone has a supply of water and something to grow, we might be able to turn parts of the wastes into a green place, like the top of the rocks."

"But you?"

"I don't know if it's possible."

* * *

Mako slides a list of supplies across the table, mostly consisting of Immortan Joe's stock of guns and bullets, a rig full of water in exchange for a significant amount of whatever hypothetical gas they'll come into possession of once the Refinery's been taken. Dag eyes it warily, thinking back to the last inventory report she'd received and wishing dearly for Furiosa to return. "You think this will work?" she asks, addressing Mako. "Answer me honestly." 

"If we fail, it would leave an opening for Imperator Furiosa and the Citadel to finish the job." Mako purses her lips, looks to either side of her for a bit of reassurance from the two triplets at her flank and then turns back to the Dag. "For what it's worth, I don't believe we will fail."

"We have an older War Rig," the Dag says, hesitating before her next sentence. "Most of them were destroyed, but Immortan Joe didn't take that one. We have weapons." Before the visitors can get their hopes up, she raises one hand. 

"But?" asks Mako.

"The War Boys you've taken. Release them back to us, unharmed."

"Seriously?"

Mako kicks Jin under the table they've been seated at, her heel grinding onto his booted toes for good measure. Cheung says nothing, but his expression radiates agreement with his brother's assessment.

"Seriously." The Dag's eyes narrow, searching the garden for another one of the wives, or Furiosa. She curls one arm protectively over her belly, attention turning back to Mako and the Weis. "You might think it's a bad idea but we can convince them to work with us, for the good of the Citadel."

Cheung leans forward. "It's not a bad idea," he says gently, "but it might be impossible. Those guys just think about dying all day, if they get a chance they could take everyone with them. Why risk it?"

"Furiosa risked everything for us." She seems to be looking beyond them, expression distant and blank before it refocuses, thin face ethereal for a second before it settles back into reality. "People died because of us. Even if it's only one more person we can save, we've decided to do it."

"People died," Cheung drawls, "because Immortan Joe was a tyrant and he didn't care about anyone but himself."

The Dag's head cocks to the side, a thin braid sliding off her shoulder with the movement as she focuses on Cheung. "That's not true. He thought he was helping. I'm sure you do too."

Mako puts a hand on Cheung's arm before he can respond, glaring at him sideways until he falls back. "Regardless of our personal feelings," she says slowly, "we will do as you ask. You can send someone to come get them."

"The Rig will be ready by tomorrow. Furiosa will go with you, then bring the Boys back to the Citadel, if they choose to return to us."

Cheung and Jin high-five each other, hands hidden behind Mako's back; neither of them look at each other. Before they have a chance to stand up, a Repair Boy stumbles into the gardens just in front of Cheedo, pausing for a long moment to look around the place before he cautiously approaches the Dag. 

"Ey, miss," he says, twitching as if torn between bolting away and finishing his sentence, "one of the aquifer pumps is down, but the bloke that usually fixes it's in the ward."

"No assistant?" asks the Dag, visibly suppressing the urge to search the area for Furiosa again. 

Jin stands, extracting his legs from under the table and waiting for Cheung to stand as well before flanking his brother. They turn in unison to size up the Repair Boy, who ends up looking even more skittish with two more pairs of eyes on him. "Didn't think he'd need one yet, but once he's up, we'll get it done, yeah?"

"Can the pump wait that long?"

Apologetically, Cheedo cuts in. "Best if it doesn't."

Jin leans toward Cheung, tapping him on the arm as he whispers something into his ear. "We'll take a look at it," Cheung volunteers, "any parts you don't have, we can probably put together with scrap you have lying around."

Looking tempted to volunteer herself as well, Mako pushes the urge aside and asks instead, "Is it alright if they go?"

The Dag looks at Cheedo first, registers a flicker of apprehension on the younger girl's face and pulls her closer by the arm. "Yeah, it's fine." 

"Thanks for helping out," Cheedo adds, sticking herself to the Dag as Cheung and Jin follow the Repair Boy out of the gardens, both of them excitedly bombarding their guide with questions. 

Mako turns to look at the Dag once the Weis are gone, Hu in the other corner of the expansive space, milling around at the edge of her vision but out of earshot. She shoves her hands deep into her pockets. "The reason you think those boys can be saved," she says, voice pitched low, "is it because you're going to have a child?"

Suspicion instantly surfaces in her face and Cheedo looks mildly alarmed that Mako would be privy to the kind of information-- they'd been keeping the Dag's pregnancy quiet, the possibility of Immortan Joe's child usurping their authority in the Citadel as it grows would be too much to handle, even for Furiosa. 

"I know of your history," Mako explains, holding her tone even, "and you were protecting your stomach. It's not something people do otherwise."

"I'm not protecting it." 

"There are ways to... remove it."

"I'm not doing that, either."

That gives Mako pause. She looks at the Dag carefully, then around the garden, toward a domed structure set into the rock formation, inside of it still furnished but collecting dust. "You want it? Even with everything it represents?"

"We promised no more killing." Cheedo squeezes the Dag's arm, the two women exchanging a long look. "Maybe it can represent something different."

"But if I lose it," the Dag murmurs distantly, "It's not like I'd mind that."

After a long silence, Mako nods. "If you change your mind, the Marshal knows people who can help. If you want to keep it, too. After everything is over, you can contact us."

Looking past her, toward the elevator, the Dag sweeps past Mako, squeezing her shoulder as she goes. Furiosa and Capable step out, flanked by one of the Mothers. "I'll remember that."

* * *

Hu leans over Toast's back for a look at a row of root vegetable seedlings, hand on the ball of her shoulder as she plucks a weed out from the trough between raised columns. When he lets his weight settle, one heavily padded knee brushing her spine, she jerks away and scrambles upright, arms curling around herself as he stumbles forward, managing to catch himself before he steps on any of the new plants. "Sorry--!" he says as he backs away, quickly putting nearly a meter of space between them. "Are you alright?"

She never did like to be touched; by Immortan Joe and even her Sisters. Boys in the Citadel are reverent, they keep their distance.

Hu looks nearly as alarmed as she feels but she's looking past him, the acerbic scent of whatever poultice Joe used on his boils and warts stinging the inside of her nose even though she knows they'd transferred that supply to the sick bay weeks ago, for War Boys in the later stages of their disease. 

"You're in the Citadel." Hu's voice sound muffled and distant, but grows louder when she focuses on his words, gentle baritone pulling her away from the memory of Joe's reverberating bass. "Immortan Joe is dead. It's... about noon, you're in the gardens." He's hanging back, hands held in plain view in front of him, expression open and apologetic. "Should I get one of your... sisters?"

"No. I'm alright."

"Maybe sit down."

Toast sits. Hu ducks away when she pulls her knees to her chest, and she hears him return by his footsteps, heavy and quick. She doesn't expect a spicy, pungent scent to hit her nose, and she looks up to see a few crushed leaves in Hu's hand. 

"What are you doing?"

"Strong smells usually help."

She doesn't dispute that; it's working. Toast remembers planting it, the oils that had rubbed off on her fingers and the dirt under her fingernails, all things Immortan Joe's prized possessions would never have had a chance to experience. 

"Thanks," she says as Hu drops the leaves into her hand and steps around her to finish weeding. She's still waiting for her pulse to slow and for the weight crowding out air in her lungs to lift, but watching him work is calming-- his back to her, spine vulnerable and open. 

"Sorry," he repeats, expertly curling the stem of a sturdy weed around his fingers and uprooting it before tossing it on top of a small pile of cuttings. "Got careless. Won't happen again."

Rather than stay on the subject, Toast makes a small sound in the back of her throat to acknowledge his words. Then, "You said there are other ways to fertilize?"

"People used to use animal shit to fertilize crops," Hu answers, patting soil back into place and brushing off his hands, "but human works fine too. Mix it in with your compost, but don't use it on food for a year." 

He expects disgust, but Toast just nods, eyes focused, absorbing every word. 

"If someone dies," Hu continues, gesturing vaguely, "don't burn them or bury them in the desert, bury them where you'll plant a crop. Maybe under a tree. Not if they're sick with something contagious, but close out the cycle when you can."

"The cycle."

"You grow things, eat them, and make waste that feeds new plants." Hu draws a circle with his hands. "If you manage to balance out the exchange, it's not hard to grow food for everyone, especially when you have that aquifer."

As a matter of survival, Toast has learned to mistrust just about everyone. She expects that all this information will come at a cost, but curiosity gets the best of her and she points outside, toward the wastes. "That's a lot of information you can't use," she points out.

"Well, not anymore."

"But before?"

"There's a barge city in the ocean north of Australia, south of China." Hu looks vaguely resentful, as if the memory of the place alone is a sour one. "Me and my brothers were born there. Everyone rotated through hydroponic gardens, but everyone had a normal one as well."

"You lived on that much water..."

"Can't drink most of it," he tells her apologetically. "We had a machine to take water from the ocean and pull out the salt. Most families aren't allowed to have more than one kid, but me and my brothers... we left as soon as we were old enough to fend for ourselves. Too much strain on the desalinator otherwise."

The image of a city floating on an endless expanse of water sounds like the figment of some War Boy's final hallucinations, but Toast keeps that thought to herself, instead pinning Hu with a curious stare. "How old were you?"

He looks skyward, counting under his breath. "Fourteen, maybe fifteen."

Hu misses the way Toast's expression darkens at the memory of her own life at fourteen and fifteen, but she shakes herself out of it before he looks at her again. "You were alone in the wastes at that age?"

That gets a grin. "I'm never alone," he says firmly. "We nearly died anyway, but we ran into the Marshal before Immortan Joe or any of his allies could pick us off. Lucky, huh?"

Toast looks at him, sharp and withdrawn. "Just hope it lasts."

* * *

"We're staying the night while they outfit the War Rig," Mako informs Hu when they reunite, the youngest triplet trailing behind Toast. "In exchange, the War Boys you and your brothers captured will be returned to them."

"Unharmed," the Dag amends.

"Not harmed any more than they already are," Mako concedes.

Hu grimaces. "Seriously?"

The Dag's eyebrows jump. His inflection and expression are an exact duplicate of his brother's, though Hu's covered in dusty clay residue to set him apart. None of the Gas Town contingent seems to notice the imitation, or maybe they're accustomed to it already. (They must be. The Dag's never seen it herself-- multiple-birth children rarely reach adulthood together in the Citadel, if they do at all.)

"Seriously," Mako answers. Cheung and Jin crowd Hu, demanding to know what he'd been up to while they were with the Repair Boys. Toast gravitates away from them, briefly catching Hu's eye and returning his wave before she settles herself next to Capable, the two of them leaning over the table, heads close together over a ream of paper. 

Hours later, when they've all eaten and had plenty of water to drink, the brothers set up around a rough campfire and surround themselves with revheads, a crowd of nearly a dozen boys chattering happily about the best way to maintain a crop of tomatoes. Mako drifts away from them when Hu starts explaining the mechanics of drip irrigation, picking a spot to sit nearby but away from the noise. 

Someone settles next to her, thin arms looped over bare knees. Cheedo leans forward, then glances sideways at Mako before they meet eyes and smile. Gesturing toward the congregation, Cheedo asks, "You're not sitting with them?"

"They're too noisy," Mako answers, muffling an affectionate laugh into her fist. "It's not bad usually, but today was long and they want to relax."

"It looks fun."

"Do you want to go over? I'm sure they won't mind."

Cheedo's expression turns brittle and she averts her eyes. "No," she says. "I don't know."

By Mako's estimate, she and Cheedo are the same age. Mako knows she's not as thin, not as delicate or graceful. The thought that maybe those exact qualities had been what Immortan Joe saw in the other girl turns Mako's stomach, but she pushes herself to her feet and brushes off the seat of her pants, extending a hand. "I can come too. They will not try anything, but if they do we can just beat them up."

Allowing Mako to pull her to her feet, Cheedo clasps Mako's hand with both of hers, and follows her to the crowd. Cheung and Jin shift to make room between them, neither interrupting their brother-- who's moved on to describing the concept of the nitrogen and phosphorous cycles to a group of boys paying rapt attention.

"Welcome to the party," Jin whispers to Mako as she settles next to him, resting an elbow on her shoulder. "Hu finally gets to show off all his useless knowledge, so we'll be here for a while."

"Useless?" asks Cheedo.

Cheung cuts in this time as he slumps backwards, folding his arms behind his head. "Well, we don't have much use for it in Gas Town. Nothing grows out there."

Cheedo doesn't answer, looking at him for a few long moments before turning her attention to Hu. 

By the time the Repair Boys have drifted away-- many of them for sleep but some eager to tend to their plants with newfound information-- Cheung's out cold, sprawled on his back with his brothers still talking on either of him, their campfire dwindled down to embers and the three of them huddled under blankets. Mako stays with the women, Capable and the Dag especially interested in hearing more about Gas Town and the wastes around it.

While they talk, she can't stop her eyes from wandering to Furiosa, silent and tense, sitting slightly apart from the others. Her silhouette stays angled toward the Weis, the only men still in the garden. When the triplets seem to have hunkered down and gone to sleep, Furiosa stretches out on her side, still watching. The Dag eventually drifts off mid-sentence, having been nodding sleepily for a good half hour beforehand. Capable, Toast and Cheedo follow soon after.

Mako stays awake for a while longer to scan the gardens, nothing but moon and starlight to illuminate it. Her eyes don't quite adjust; Gas Town is always hazily lit, even in the quiet hours of the morning. She angles her back toward the closest rock face, but when her gaze sweep over to Furiosa, Mako startles when she sees a flash of white, the older woman's eyes wide open and fully alert. 

Furiosa's voice is quiet, but firm and even. "You're nervous."

"A bit," Mako answers honestly, pulling her blanket around her shoulders. "I'm worried for the Marshal, and my friends."

Nothing else seems forthcoming for a long minute, Furiosa sizing her up with the expertise of a seasoned warrior. After a while, she looks away and settles in, pulling a twig out from under her back before turning over. 

"Get some rest, kid."

Mako's not sure whether to be comforted or alarmed, but sleep calls louder than her own convoluted thoughts, dragging her under before she has much of a chance to turn those words over in her mind.


End file.
